


Blackened Scales and Burning Wings

by TheLastGunslinger



Series: Lights in the Darkness [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopted Children, And is very annoyed that she can’t fly, Assassins & Hitmen, Bisexual Female Character, Blood and Gore, Bloodlust, Dovahzul (Elder Scrolls), F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Flying by the seat of my pants, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mates, Merinthophobia, Modern Girl in Thedas, OC is a dragon, OC knows Solas is hiding something, Original Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potential Solas rivalmance, Protective Cullen Rutherford, Reaver OC, Scars, Shadow magic, Solas is Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), Sorta modern girl in Thedas, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos, The Grand Game, The Veil (Dragon Age), other than Dovahzul there’s no other ES lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastGunslinger/pseuds/TheLastGunslinger
Summary: Rhiannon Silnah had spent most of her life protecting and teaching others. What few know, however, is that she was also an assassin- one currently employed by the mortal queen of the kingdom of Haewyth.A contract was given to her by the queen to apprehend- or kill, if necessary- a sorcerer who was rumored by the locals to dabble in necromancy and summoning spirits.Upon arrival, she finds the man has, indeed, been practicing SOMETHING like summoning. But what are those lines on his face? And why did he look like he was expecting her?There’s a bright flash of unfamiliar green magic, and instead of a horrific creature, an old woman with hair styled like horns stands before her and insists she’s very important to the survival of an entire world.Shereallydidn’t get paid enough for this.
Relationships: Female Adaar (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Sera (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Solas (Dragon Age) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Lights in the Darkness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166621
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old meddler does what she does best...

Rhiannon looked at the house in front of her with a gnawing sense of trepidation. Something about the house was _wrong _.__ There was a strange aura of unfamiliar magic surrounding it, and while she wouldn't be so stupid as to assume she had seen all there was to see of magic in her time, it still greatly disturbed her that she couldn't find even a flicker of familiarity in it. 

_This has bad news written all over it._ Every part of her was screaming _'turn around, you idiot!'_ , but her sense of honor wouldn't leave the man to hurt innocents with a magic she hadn't seen before. it wasn't right.

She takes a breath and stills her mind, focusing on finding the soul of the man within the house- hopefully, he was alone, though she'd learned the hard way that underestimating a mage because they were alone never ended well. As she concentrated, the sorcerer's soul came into view, shining out among the chaotic aura surrounding him. 

And then, she looked around him, at the magic that was beginning to concentrate around a certain point-

She swears under her breath and draws her dagger, rushing into the house and yelling out at the man to stop, to step back from the summoning circle. He continues to work, giving no indication that he had heard her at all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she screams, and finally the man looks up from his work.

"Ah, Rhiannon, I presume?" She flinches back, caught off guard.

"Who are you? And how the hell do you know my name?" He simply smiles and turns back to the portal.

Shit. It's a proper portal now. The bastard had distracted her from it and now it was too late for her to stop whatever demon was going to come through. She braces herself, reaching for her magic and willing a tiny thread of her being into her blades. They glow a faint purple color in response to her as the runes activate, and she tenses as a shape begins to form out of the bright green glow of the portal. 

A woman, tall and imposing and clad in red leather armor that suited her well despite her obvious advancing age. The woman's hair was curious, to say the least. Part of her white hair was bound tightly with red cord, swept up and back from her head in a way obviously meant to resemble dragon horns. And it was this, more than the rest of her appearance, that gave her the impression that this might not be a demon. Demons, in her rare encounters with them, had appeared monstrous, bulky, and utterly inhuman- and many of them had horns, several of them in some cases. Why go to the trouble of styling your hair to look like horns if you already _had _them? The vanity seemed almost human in a way, even if the power rolling off the woman made it obvious that she was not.__

____

They watched each other silently for a few moments before Rhiannon's mouth got the better of her. 

____

"So, is there a particular reason you did your hair like that, other than you just really, really like being... horny?"

____

The woman stared at her for a few seconds before bringing her hand up to her hair, a smile creeping over her face.

____

"Ah," she cackles, "I suppose you could say that, dear. I do admire them, 'tis true. Dragons are blessed with a beauty and grace unmatched by most in the world." She gives her a conspiratorial grin that she finds herself returning before she continues. "Though I suspect you know that fact very well, indeed."

____

The grin falls from her face and she schools her features into a neutral mask. "Oh? And what about me leads you to believe I have any experience with them?" she asks innocently. "Certainly not my attire."

____

The woman gives another brief cackle, shaking her head. "No, not at all, dear. Alas, I did not come all this way to engage in _vanadirtha._ "

____

"Vanadirtha? What is-"

____

"Pah. You'll learn in time. What is important is this: Your aid- your guidance, and, unfortunately, your _skills-_ will be of vital importance in saving a world, and bringing it back from the brink of destruction.

____

" _A_ world?"

____

"Yes, child. Were you not listening?" she scoffs and shakes her head as Rhiannon bristles, opening her mouth to shoot back a reply, but she waves her hand, cutting her off. "I cannot tell you much, for the paths of many of the coming days are yet to be decided, but know this: there is an ancient evil aiming to pierce the Veil and it, in the process, will rip apart the realm of men. Now come, there is not much time."

____

"I am supposed to go to a world unknown to me, whose people likely don't speak the same language, with nothing but the clothes on my back, to fight an ancient and powerful being that wants to destroy the world? _Alone_?" 

____

"No. You'll certainly not be alone. All of Thedas will rise up against him, and you will find many capable allies will stand beside you. Now go. Look for the woman with the Mark. She shines like a beacon in the night- not unlike you, in fact. Find her, and from there, the answers you seek will reveal themselves. In the fade, if your mind remains open, you will find those who will be able to teach you- so you can teach, in turn, to those that history has forgotten."

____

Rhiannon shook her head, even as the green light started to draw her in as if she was pulled by strings. "But what about my daug-"

____

"She will be taken care of, _Elgar'morisenatha _." The woman's voice faded away, but her last word was left ringing in her ears as her vision went dark.__

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Elvish comes from Fenxshiral's marvelous compendium of the Elvish language!
> 
> vanadirtha: Idle chatter  
> Elgar'morisenatha: great/high dragon soul


	2. Chapter 2

Solas looked down at the woman in front of him, overcome with awe and not a little horror.  
The woman was not human, that was blatantly obvious. She likely wasn’t even _mortal_ , if his hypothesis about her yet-unbreakable illusion over her neck and arms was correct. Truly powerful magic, that one such as he couldn’t even get a glimpse of what lay beyond the spell. Most curious. He would have to ask her about her methods when she awoke.  
The horror came when he began his examination for injuries. He removed her tunic, scanning her upper body with a healer’s efficiency, before he used a little flare of magic to aid in flipping her over.  
He distantly registered the sound of the door opening at his loud curse, but his attention was solely on the woman’s back.  
She was covered in lash marks. Scar tissue from...  
_countless_ lashings crisscrossed her back in a horrific pattern. They were old, however. Very old. He shuddered involuntarily and tried to tear his eyes from them. He couldn’t heal those. Not without tearing her back open again.  
“Maker’s tears...” He heard the voice of the Inquisition’s Commander behind him, and glanced up to see his pale, horrified countenance, which no doubt mirrored his own. He grimaced, but forced himself to move on. He healed a gash on her arm and a knot on her hip, and moved to her legs. More scars there, and there was an injury to her left ankle that was old, but recently aggravated by her fall. An old break, most likely, that didn’t heal properly. He could fix this.  
He cast another, stronger, sleep spell over the woman, and asked the commander to assist him after examining the break with his magic.  
“I need you to grip her foot tightly. When I say to, I need you to wrench her foot down and to the side as hard as you can. I need to reset the bones in her ankle and foot.”  
He grimaced, but nodded. Solas pushed her foot up on the table further, and braced his hands on either side of her leg, just above her ankle, holding her leg firmly in place. He took a breath, willing magic into his fingers, and nodded sharply to Cullen. The man tensed and did as he was asked, and the sickening crack of her ankle breaking filled the room. Cullen looked like he might be ill, and very quickly excused himself as Solas mapped out the injury with his magic.  
Slowly, very slowly, he sent pulses of healing magic through her ankle, urging the bones to mend and giving energy to her body to expedite the process. His work paid off; a while later, he released the woman’s ankle and looked at it with a grim sense of satisfaction. Even if he couldn’t help her back, she would at least be able to walk without a limp, nor the pain of her bones grinding together. He carefully redressed the woman in a spare tunic and moved her from the table to the cot, covering her with a blanket. He gathered her old, bloody clothes to have cleaned, and went to find the Seeker, leaving the woman in Adan’s capable, if somewhat terse, hands. She’d likely want to be informed of the woman’s condition.  
On the way from the infirmary to Cassandra’s preferred spot in the training grounds, he passed the Herald, who seemed to brighten upon seeing him, and greeted him with a warm smile.  
How... strange. Certainly unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. He smiled slightly in return and continued to the Seeker.


	3. Chapter 3

She awakes in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open as she tries to sit up, only to find that everything hurts, and her limbs won't listen to her quite like they should. Her head feels fuzzy and her bones feel as if they're made of lead. She groans quietly, hand going to the back of her head to touch it gingerly, and she winces at the tenderness. Bloody head injury. Must've fallen from... somewhere after that woman dragged her through the portal. She lays there silently for several minutes as she slowly comes to, finally being able to get to her feet shakily, bracing her hand on the headboard for support. Walking over to the opposite wall of the small cabin, she picks up a sheet of paper laying near the edge of the desk there.

Patient observations day 2:

_The woman seems to be steadily improving thanks to the efforts of the elf. He checks in on her every few hours, asking about her condition, and casting some sort of spell on her when he thinks I'm not looking, growing frustrated as each doesn't work in turn._

_Think she's waking up soon. Heard her stirring a bit in the evening yesterday. I've given instructions for the elf girl to notify the Herald at once_ ~~_if_~~ _when she wakes._

She hears the door open, and a sharp gasp followed by the sounds of a crate falling and glass clanking together.

"Oh! Forgive me, ma'am! I wasn't aware you'd be awake so soon! I should've brought food... Oh no, no no..." The young elf frets, eyes wide as she wrings her hands nervously and backs away from her.

"It's okay. I'm not really hungry right now anyway. What's your name, and where am I?"

"Haven, m-ma'am. And, ah... M-my name is Ennala." She fidgets a little more, but seems to calm down a bit. "The Herald wishes to see you in the Chantry as soon as you can, ma'am. It's the big building on the hill. I must go inform Master Adan and Solas that you've awoken. He'll be most pleased, I think." With these words, the girl turns and rushes out of the cabin.

"Wait, Ennala!" Rhiannon sighs, shaking her head and looking around the room once more. She sees her armor draped over the back of a chair and walks over, pulling it on and loosing a relieved breath at the familiar, snug leather armor. Thus dressed, she steps out of the cabin, blinking at the bright sun shining just above a mountain range.

Mountains?

She grumbles under her breath as the cold hits her fully, eliciting an involuntary shudder from her. 

"I fucking _hate_ the cold."

"You and me both, Swirls."

She looks around at the voice behind her... and looks _down_ at a man who looked horribly underdressed for the weather. 

"Name's Varric Tethras. Rouge, storyteller, and member of the Merchants' Guild." He grins at her, motioning for her to follow. 

"So, what did you call me? _Swirls_?"

"Well, yeah, have you _seen_ your arm?"

"Swirls, though? I doubt you know what they mean, anyway- kinda making light of 'em."

Varric sighs good-naturedly, rolling his eyes. "Well, if that doesn't work for you, princess, how about Ink?"

She snorts, and the cold air stings her nose enough that she sneezes violently before laughing.

"That..." she gasps out, "That's _worse_!." 

She walks with Varric up a flight of stairs, and the dwarf gestures at the large building dominating the village in front of them. "That's the Chantry. Adaar is waiting in there, probably talking with the Seeker or Leliana. I think you'll get on like a house on fire, myself, but Sera bet five sovereigns that Leliana would play 20 questions as soon as she laid eyes on you."

"Do you do that very often?" she asks innocently enough, though her smirk gave her away.

"Only on interesting things. Like a tall, mysterious woman cloaked in magic that even _Chuckles_ can't break. Pissed him off to no end, that did."

"Well, that's because-"

"Swirls, go on. don't keep them waiting. You can explain your weird magic shit to us later."

She shakes her head, grinning and thanking him as he walks off. 

"Don't mention it."

She walks to the Chantry, pushing open the heavy wooden door with a little effort and closing it with a thud that echoed through the high-ceilinged building. She walks to the Chantry, pushing open the heavy wooden door with a little effort and closing it with a thud that echoed through the high-ceilinged building. Scanning the area, she sees a woman in a gold and blue dress talking to a darker-skinned woman in red and white robes.

"Thank you for your time, Mother Giselle, but I truly don't think she’s- Oh! And here she is now! Mistress Adaar!”

She sucks in a breath, mouth going dry as a tall, dark-skinned woman with silver hair and _horns_ steps out of the room beside them. 

“Oh Bormahu preserve me..” She murmurs as the woman’s gold-grey eyes meet hers. 

“Hello there,” The woman, presumably Adaar, says quietly, the low rumble in her voice sending a shiver down her spine.

“H-hello.” She swallows, wincing at her stutter.

She grins broadly, sticking out her hand in greeting. “Glad to see you awake, friend. I’m Nihaya Adaar, and this is Lady Josephine Montilyet. Most just call me Adaar though. Or Herald.” She frowns slightly at this.

Rhiannon grasps her hand and shakes it, smiling back at her. “I’m Rhiannon, or Rhea. Depending on how lazy one is. Either one is fine.”

“Herald, is this her? The woman that fell out of the rift in the Hinterlands?”

An accented voice pipes up from behind her, and she tears her gaze away from the woman in front of her to look at the newcomer, a woman in purple armor with an eye painted on it that had short, dark hair and a scar on her cheek. 

“Ah, Cassandra. She is indeed. Meet Rhiannon.”

To her surprise, Cassandra smiles warmly at her. “I am glad to see you are awake, Rhiannon. Falling twenty feet out of a rift onto your back in the middle of a battle couldn’t have been pleasant to endure, no doubt.”

“Cassandra here is the one who carried you back to the Inquisition camp and escorted you back here with Solas.”

“Ah, I see. You have my thanks, Cassandra.” She inclines her head to her, bowing slightly. She flushes, and waves her hand dismissively.

“It was nothing, truly. I couldn’t very well leave you there, helpless, to get slaughtered by demons, now could I?”

“Well, regardless, thank you for bringing me to safety.” Cassandra smiles at her words and excuses herself.

“Lady Rhiannon, there is someone who wishes to meet you, but I have informed her that you’ll be in the Singing Maiden should she wish to talk to you.”

“Thank you, Josephine.” She inclines her head as she and Adaar turn back to Giselle to resume their conversation.

Rhiannon walks out of the chantry, glancing about. She sees a wood building that, even from here, carried the sounds of merriment and music. She walks down the stairs and through the ajar door into the warmth of the tavern.

“OI! That’s wots-’er-face, right? Rhiannon?”

She hears a cockney accent assaulting her ears from a corner of the tavern, and a quieter voice, that she realized was Varric’s, confirming her question. “Hey, Rhiannon!” He calls out, beckoning her over to their table. 

“Oh, wow… You’re… pretty. And tall.” The blonde elf giggles madly at her, ears and face turning pink as her eyes linger on her arm. 

“So, Swirls. Tell us about yourself.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

“Tell us about the ink.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I don’t tell that to just anyone, dear storyteller.” She grins widely at the dwarf's slightly put-out expression.

"I'll get that story out of you one day, count on it."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, Varric. But for now, I'll tell you a little about _me._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teehee~ 
> 
> Someone’s got a cruuuuush!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare- and a certain Elf gets a little more than he bargained for when he sneaks into her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for graphic violence, the death of a child, and generally dark shit.
> 
> no idea if I'll be able to keep posting two chapters at a time, but given classes are slowly winding up for the semester, the best I can give is a fairly solid _maybe. ___

After spending a rather invigorating evening among new friends, swapping stories and learning to play Wicked Grace (and losing more money than she cared to admit), Rhiannon turned in around midnight, claiming Leliana would want to speak with her in the morning. They said their slightly slurred goodnights- though she knew Varric was faking drunkenness, drinking what she assumed was tea rather than ale. She returned to the small cabin on the ridge that was blessedly not a few hundred feet from the _Maiden,_ and changed out of her armor before crawling into bed.

* * *

Alas, her wish for a decent night's sleep would not come true.

No sooner had she fallen asleep had her dreams started.

_She looked at herself, huddled in the corner of a dark cell on a filthy pile of straw, body wracked with tremors from the cold. Her wrists were rubbed raw from the shackles, thin fingers clutching desperately at the hem of her ragged, roughspun dress, knees tucked to her chest in a futile attempt to preserve her fading body heat. She could only go so long without a source of warmth- and it had been days since her last meal, and she was lucky if the guards remembered to bring a bowl of water to her for the day. Without the sun, or a torch, even, to warm her, she was slipping ever closer to her body shutting down with each day in this filthy cell. Her younger self looks up, and suddenly she's looking through her eyes again as a figure walks to her cell. She hears herself whimper as they open the door, and a guard comes in with a bundle of something in his arms._

_"Here." He- for the figure's voice was male- says quietly. "For you. Ain't right, that they keep you down here for this long for no reason." He shakes his head and looks apologetic as he sets the blankets by her feet._

_"Bloody wench. Ain't ye gonna say thank ya for th' food?" he snarls before smacking his right hand sharply against the palm of his left, the sound bouncing off the stone walls around them. "Ungrateful_ bitch _!" He growls, spitting on the ground at his feet._ _He grimaces as his fellow guards guffaw loudly from the other room._

_"Soon, Rhea. Hold on just a little longer."_

_She curls up underneath the rough wool blanket and reaches for the bowl of food that had been placed by it. Stale bread and thin broth with a few sorry vegetables floating around in it. Better than nothing, of course, and she'd be a fool if she didn't eat while she had it._ _Her belly more full than it had been in a while, she watched herself drift off to sleep._

* * *

_The dream shifted, and she found herself standing in the middle of a village- or what remained of it. She feels a hand on her shoulder as she stares, frozen, at the aftermath of what could only be called a massacre. Houses had been reduced to smoldering piles of wooden beams and burning thatching, the remains of the townsfolk littered through the streets and under their collapsed houses._

_She bent down to pick up the charred, dirty, cloth-and-string doll, tears stinging her eyes more than the smoke ever would. A few pieces of straw stuffing fall out of a tear in the arm, and she brushes her fingers over its face, cleaning away some of the soot before she tucks it away in her bag._

_A cairn- one of the largest in the region, according to some- had been raised that day, a stone for each of the dead and the lives they had lived. And on top of a large, flat rock sat the doll, a scorched blacksmith's hammer, a hand-painted bowl with a crack in it, and countless flowers and other keepsakes._

She looks up from the cairn to see a bald elf in a green tunic and leggings watching her, a look of profound sorrow on his face. She looks down at her hands ruefully, "after that, I resigned my post in the army. Became a guard. A tutor and adviser on things related to magic or magical incidents in the kingdom. I wanted to protect and teach, not..." She swallows thickly, shaking her head. "I taught a queen's daughter to fight, showed her how to control her magic and wield it to inflict terror on her enemies. She's like a daughter to me- I practically raised her since she was ten."

"That... Is a worthy goal." Solas says quietly. "I am sorry that you've seen such atrocity in your time."

"Yeah, well... I've inflicted my fair share of it as well; I'm no victim by any stretch of the imagination."

"Perhaps not. However.." He stepped closer to her, examining her like she was a most curious oddity that he couldn't quite figure out the purpose of. "Are you aware that your aura is... dark?" he asks offhandedly.

" _Dark_?" She repeats. "I.. no, but that makes sense-"

"It is quite unusual. In all my travels in the Fade, I've never seen one with power such as yours. It is simply... Fascinating." He breathes, meeting her eyes. He takes another step toward her, and-

has the gall to look disappointed when she steps back in answer. "Is something the matter, _da'len_?"

She stiffened, gaze turning icy. "I am no more a child than you are, _kah fahliil._ " She says, voice dropping to a growl.

His eyes narrowed at her words. "Is that so? Most interesting. We must discuss this further at a later date." He turns away, starting to walk off.

" _ **Solas**_." Her voice echoes around them, cold and resonating with power that made the Fade itself tremble around them. He flinches, but slowly turns around. Her eyes flare a dark purple and she presses her hand to the center of his chest, his soul recoiling from her touch.

" _If you attempt to enter my dreams again without my_ explicit _permission, I will ensure you're unable to do so again. Do I make myself clear?."_

He went very, very still and very, very pale. "A-as you wish, Rhiannon." He bows stiffly, and vanishes from the Fade.

* * *

She'd be lying if she said she didn't take great amusement from hearing Solas' panicked curses from the cabin adjacent to her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rivalmance of Solas and Rhia, anyone?
> 
> Credit to Fenxshiral for the Elvhen and thuum.org for the Dovahzul!
> 
> da'len- child
> 
> kah fahliil- prideful elf


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not dead! Neither is the story!

A knock on her door interrupted her as she made the bed the next morning. She opens the door to see a runner, looking sleepy himself. 

“Good morning, serah. Sister Leliana would like to see you in the Chantry.”

She glanced around the Chantry briefly before walking to the room where Josephine’s office was.

“Rhiannon, good morning! Please, sit. Leliana will be along shortly. Would you like anything to eat? I can have someone send for a meal, if you wish.” Rhiannon takes a chair across from the ambassador and settles herself.

“Ah, thank you, Lady Montilyet, but I’m fine. I’ll pick something up from the tavern after we’re done.” She’d feel awkward eating with the other two women watching her, let alone with them trying to ask her questions.

They both turned as Leliana opened the door.

“Good morning, Leliana.” Josephine noticeably brightened as she entered, and even Leliana’s stern countenance softened a bit upon seeing her friend.

“Shall we begin, then?” Josephine says as Leliana seats herself, turning the chair so she could see both of them.

“Right down to business.” Rhea nodded, folding her hands in her lap. 

* * *

“But what to do about her sudden appearance? We could always say she was an apostate mage, of course, but-“

“Lady Josephine, I mean no disrespect, but how can I be an apostate when I was brought up entirely separate from your Circles? I confess, I’d never even _heard_ of them before my arrival.”

“Oh- I see.”

“I think it would be easier to say that I was, by all appearances, not magically gifted. Of course, it’s patently false, but as I have never made much of a habit of relying solely on my magic in combat...”

“What  _ can _ you do, then? What abilities do you have that can be passed off as mundane?”

Rhiannon smiles and stands up, moving a bit away from the two before closing her eyes. She sketches a small bow before she disappears from their view, prompting a gasp from Josephine and a thoughtful look from Leliana. She flickers back to existence a few seconds later in the corner of the room.

“Magic, not alchemy, then. Interesting. I couldn’t sense you moving at all.” Leliana watches her for a moment, lost in thought.

Rhiannon gives a small tilt of her head as she sits down. “I believe you would have to be a mage to do so, Lady Nightingale.” There was a hint of pride in her voice as she said this.

“I’ll have to test this before we make use of it in the field, of course, but this could prove... very useful indeed to the Inquisition. Thank you, Rhiannon, you’ve given me much to think on.” Rhiannon nods and takes her leave of the two as Adaar knocks on the door, calling the women to a war room meeting.

* * *

On the other side of the wall from the ambassador’s office, Vivienne’s attention was pulled from her studies by the unmistakable flare of magic. She knew neither Leliana or Josephine were mages- of  _course_ they weren’t. This newcomer, however... 

She marked her place in the book before setting it aside, going to find a loyal Templar. Having a mage in the Inquisition that hadn’t been officially reported could be disastrous for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I speak for most when I sayScrew Vivienne. Rhea will have None of That, thank ya much.


	6. Chapter 6

A knock on her door interrupted her as she made the bed the next morning. She opens the door to see a runner, looking sleepy himself. 

“Good morning, serah. Sister Leliana would like to see you in the Chantry.”

She nods silently, and the messenger takes his leave. She pulls on the coat and gloves she’d requisitioned and walks out, starting for the Chantry.  
She glanced around the main hall briefly before spying Josephine’s ajar office door. She walks to the door and knocks lightly, hearing a quiet “come in!” From the ambassador.

“Rhiannon, good morning! Please, sit. Leliana will be along shortly. Would you like anything to eat? I can have someone send for a meal, if you wish.” Rhiannon takes a chair across from the ambassador and settles herself.

“Ah, that’s alright, Lady Montilyet. I’ll pick something up from the tavern after we’re done.” She’d feel awkward eating with the other two women watching her, let alone with them trying to ask her questions.

They both turned as Leliana opened the door.

“Good morning, Leliana.” Josephine noticeably brightened as she entered, and even Leliana’s stern countenance softened a bit upon seeing her friend.

“Shall we begin, then?” Josephine says as Leliana seats herself, turning the chair so she could see both of them.

“Right down to business.” Rhea nodded. 

* * *

“But what to do about her sudden appearance? We could always say she was an apostate mage, of course, but-“

“Lady Josephine, I mean no disrespect, but how can I be an apostate when I was brought up entirely separate from your Circles? I confess, I’d never even _heard_ of them before my arrival.”

“Oh- I see.”

“I think it would be easier to say that I was, by all appearances, not magically gifted. Of course, it’s patently false, but as I have never made much of a habit of relying solely on my magic in combat...”

“What  can you do, then? What abilities do you have that can be passed off as mundane?”

Rhiannon smiles and stands up, moving a bit away from the two before closing her eyes. She sketches a small bow before she disappears from their view, prompting a gasp from Josephine and a thoughtful look from Leliana. She flickers back to existence a few seconds later in the corner of the room.

“Magic, not alchemy, then. Interesting. I couldn’t sense you moving at all.” Leliana watches her for a moment, lost in thought.

Rhiannon gives a small tilt of her head as she sits down. “I believe you would have to be a mage to do so, Lady Nightingale.” There was a hint of pride in her voice as she said this.

“I’ll have to test this before we make use of it in the field, of course, but this could prove... very useful indeed to the Inquisition. Thank you, Rhiannon, you’ve given me much to think on.” Rhiannon nods and takes her leave of the two as Adaar knocks on the door, calling the women to a war room meeting.

* * *

On the other side of the wall from the ambassador’s office, Vivienne’s attention was pulled from her studies by the unmistakable flare of magic. She knew neither Leliana or Josephine were mages- of  course they weren’t. This newcomer, however... 

She marked her place in the book before setting it aside, going to find a loyal Templar. Having a mage in the Inquisition that hadn’t been officially reported could be disastrous for all of them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a longer one, folks! Happy Holidays!

In the dead of night, she is roused from her sleep by the quiet squeak of her door opening. She bolts upright, throwing the blanket up and off the bed with a flick of her wrist. She uses this distraction to get to her feet, even as an armored figure yanks the thing out of the air with an annoyed snarl.

“Come quietly.” The Templar says simply.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhea shouted, outraged. “It’s the middle of the fucking night! I demand to know on what charges I am being detained on!”

“Oh, it’s really quite simple, darling-  apostasy .” An aristocratic voice sneered from behind him. Her mind raced, weighing the odds of taking out the knight before the person accompanying him could attack. 

Shit. Shit shit _shit—_  
Rhea looks at the Templar in front of her calmly, face neutral.   
“No. Anything regarding formal charges will have to wait until the morning. You can’t simply break into my house- which was granted to me by Sister Leliana and witnessed by Mother Giselle, for my service in the Inquisition- in the middle of night and throw me in the fucking cells to rot until someone  gets around  to dealing with me!” Shit.  Surely there’s laws against that kind of thing here?

The woman behind the Knight gives a soft laugh. “Oh, you poor dear... I suppose there’s nothing to do about it, then. Bayard,” the voice snaps.

She didn’t have time to fight back before the woman hits her with a shock spell, distracting her and giving the Templar enough time to overpower her. A rag is pressed to her face for several seconds, and her vision goes black.

* * *

When she comes to, she finds herself locked in a cell, wrists bound. She tries to push herself into a more natural position, but her stomach and and head rebel, leaving her dizzy and nauseous.

“What did you bastards drug me with?” She grits her teeth, trying to make the room stop spinning.

“Magebane,” a masculine, slightly reverberating voice replies from somewhere behind her. The position she was in, she couldn’t turn her head to the speaker. Dear gods, she couldn’t feel her legs. How long had she been down here?

“I wish to speak to Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Sister Leliana. I will not consent to anything you wish to say to me or perform until then.”

There’s a melodramatic sigh, and Vivienne stalks out of the cells. “Should’ve known you’d be involved, Bitch-Enchanter...” Rhea mutters, shifting her legs out from underneath her .

Some time later, after a long stretch of thoroughly uncomfortable silence between her and the Templar staring at her from the corner, she’s able to hear raised voices coming down the hall.

“-Cullen? I went to find Rhiannon to test her abilities, and I find my authority-  and Seeker Cassandra’s- has been subverted to imprison one of my agents on charges of  _ apostasy_?” The door to the prisons slams open, and an irate Leliana storms in, followed by Cullen and Cassandra.

“Seeker Pentaghast outranks you, and the other Templars in Haven! The Circles have been  _ disbanded_,  _ Knight-Commander_!” Leliana sneers, and Cullen seems to flinch at the use of his old title. “If an agent of mine is to be drugged and thrown in a cell for nothing other than being a mage, then the same goes for the woman who orchestrated it in the first place!”

“Vivienne de Fer!” Cassandra snaps, utterly fed up with her scheming. “Out of the cells and away from the Chantry! You are not to leave Haven until this matter has been investigated.”

“Cassandra, surely-“ she begins.

“You will leave, or I will throw you out of Haven myself.” She growls, cutting her off. “The Herald will be informed of this... development.” 

Vivienne waltzes out of the cell as if nothing had occurred.  “Perhaps you should be mindful of the fact that while  I have passed my Harrowing, she-“ She glowers at Rhiannon as if her very existence pained her. “Has not.” She walked out of the cells, head high regardless of the glares leveled at her back.

“Leliana?” Rhiannon croaks, wincing as she forces herself to an upright position. The door to the cell opens, and she recognizes the purple armor of the form in front of her. Cassandra steadies her as Leliana gets the key to the shackles and unlocks them. 

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Cassandra was saying. “I suspected the woman of having an agenda, but to go so far as this...” She makes a disgusted noise and shakes her head, helping her to her feet. “There’s no real antidote for magebane other than letting it run its course, unfortunately. Its effects usually fade within a day.” 

Rhiannon nodded mutely as she’s led out of the prison and back into the Chantry.

She felt  _horrible_.  This was why she detested poison. It left you weak and vulnerable, even if the poison itself wasn’t fatal. And the ones that were...  Back home, she’d heard rumors of a poison called “dragon sand”, that burrowed its way into your skin, seeking your heart. As it worked, it burned from the inside out- alleged victims of it had been described as having wisps of smoke coming out of their eyes, nose and mouth as they died screaming. 

Gods save her, she hoped that one was just an apothecary’s tale. She had killed some truly horrible people, and yet she couldn’t imagine  anyone deserving to die in agony like that.

She shook herself out as she opens the Chantry door. Stepping outside and starting for the tavern, she wondered if it was too early in the day for a drink.

Wait... 

The sun was in the _west_ . She’d been in the dungeons all day.   
“Ah, fucking hell.” She sighs, resolving herself to actually eat whatever food they had before drinking the day’s events away.

Her arrival in the tavern is met with cheers from Varric’s table. To her surprise, Adaar is there, raising a tankard to her with a relieved look on her face. Rhea sits down at the table, ordering a plate of food and an ale as the waitress walks up shortly after.

”Cassandra told me about what Vivienne pulled. If she so much as talks to you again without your permission, she’s out. On the first caravan back to Orlais, in the cart with the ores and animal pelts.” Adaar grinned at her and bumped her shoulder.  
“As it is, since she’s not allowed to leave Haven on Cassandra’s orders, I find myself in need of a mage to replace her when we head back out to the Hinterlands in the next few days. Leliana told me you’re somewhat unorthodox in battle- you can use magic, but prefer to rely on blades and stay in close range?”

”That’s right. I’m more of a rogue by preference, and adapted my magic to suit that. Not many mages do that here, I’ve noticed. Maybe that should change.” She smiled and thanked the waitress as her food and drink are set before her, and she passes a few coins to the surprised woman.

”T-thank you, Serah!” The woman squeaks, squirreling away the money into a pocket on her apron, bustling off.

”Of course, it simply isn’t practical to wear heavy armor as a mage, in most cases anyway. I knew a handful of people, they called themselves Paladins, that wielded enchanted blades and fire magic. Mostly occupied with undead, so it probably comes in handy in that case.”

Adaar was listening with rapt attention and Varric... was taking notes?

”I get the feeling this is a normal thing for you, then? You just pull out a piece of paper and write down random things people say?”

”Of course, don’t you?” He fires back, setting his quill down. “I’ve learned that almost anything people say can be useful in some sort of book, whether that’s a witty one-liner or a little insight into their past. Like the Paladin thing. That’s interesting, and more importantly, it’s _new._ ”   
“That’s a very good point, Storyteller. Anyway, where were we? Oh, of course. So I was thinking that, in the downtime between outings, we could start training mages for close combat and get them medium armor. Even hides or a few layers of leather under their robes would be better than just cloth. That way, if they get singled out in a battle, they’re not defenseless against the enemy’s blades.”

”I’ll definitely bring it up with the advisors,” she said brightly.  “Would you mind being there to pitch it to them? I know you’re kind of under Leliana’s wing now-“ there’s a pause as the table snickered a bit at that- “and I’m sure she’d appreciate any advantage we can get in bringing an end to this... madness.” Adaar leans forward, resting her chin on her hand as she rubs her eyes with the other.   
“You doing alright?” Rhea asks softly. “Do you need anything?”

Adaar lets out a frustrated growl. “What I _need_ is to get back out in the field! This sitting around waiting while the advisors bicker among themselves is driving me absolutely mad! We could be out there helping people, but they can’t decide what the next step is going to be, despite the fact that we can’t actually _do_ anything until we get more influence in the area. Maker help them all if something happens to me and I can’t be there to mediate.” She shakes her head, pushing back from the table before standing up. “Ugh. I’m gonna head to bed. Hopefully, we can start planning to head out soon.”   
At Adaar’s exit, it seemed to Rhea like the tavern got a little less vibrant, and a little more... wasted. Like the customers took the opportunity allowed by the Herald’s exit to drink even more freely. Rhea curled her lip as a soldier staggered to his feet, a fist to his mouth. He got rushed outside, and the retching that ensued was more than enough to convince her to take her leave as well. After the soldier stumbles back in, leaving with assistance from a buddy of his, she stands up, straightening her place at the table the best she could and takes the door across from the sick soldier’s mess. She makes her way back to her cabin, locking the door firmly behind her and checking it, just to be safe. She collapses in her bed, heaving a weary sigh of content, and quickly dozes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She’ll eventually reconcile with Vivienne to an extent.  
> Eventually.  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

By some miracle, the advisors had agreed that they needed more influence in and around the Hinterlands before they decided to approaching the rebel mages or Templars. The day after the war room meeting, Adaar, along with Varric, Cassandra and Rhea, departed from Haven and rode out to meet some of Leliana’s scouts near the crossroads to the south of Redcliffe village.

* * *

They were into day three of riding when they came upon the first group of Templars.

It was a small group, about five of them, but they had destroyed a farmhouse- the animals had been slaughtered and left to rot, and the thin wooden walls of the place had been hacked apart in several places.

“I don’t understand. Why? Why would they do something like this? The people that lived here were obviously civilians! There’s a garden there, for goodness sake, no apostate could’ve raised a full, fruit-bearing garden in the few months since the conclave.” Rhea swings off her horse and makes her way to the wreckage, bending down to look at a slaughtered cow.

“This...” she swore, drawing her sword. “It hasn’t been dead long, they might still be in the area!” She called. The answering sound of boots hitting the ground and weapons being drawn told her they’d come to a similar conclusion.

A surprised call to arms off to her left had her pivoting, blade at the ready as a Templar recklessly charged at her.

“Bloody mage-lover!” He roars as she blocked his blind swing, pushing back against him. As he brought the blade back up for another swipe, she feints to the left, aiming her blow at the gap between the couter and gauntlet of his sword hand. Taking advantage of the distraction that caused, she sweeps behind him, grabbing him by the hair and yanking him closer to her as she stabs her blade into his back. The Templar falls with a sick gurgle and she plants a foot on his back, yanking the sword from his corpse. 

She makes a face at the condition of the blade. The hilt was already rattling slightly and she could see a spot in the middle of the blade that had been nicked by blocking the attack.

The others come up to her after they pick off the other Templars. 

“Harritt didn’t make you a weapon himself? Odd.”

“I didn’t know he would, I just picked up a sword from Threnn, she said that’s all that was available last minute.”

“You’re not a foot soldier,” Varric laughs. “You’re a member of our fun little party just as surely as I am. If you wanted one, I’m sure Cassandra could’ve been convinced to let you use one of hers.”

Cassandra makes a disapproving grunt at Varric’s statement, but he mostly ignores her and continues on. 

“Surely you’ve got other weapons on you, Swirls.” 

“Of  course I do, what do you take me for, a mercenary?” She snorts and tosses the blade on the ground by the fallen knight, drawing a knife from her boot to prove her point.

“Old habits die hard. I’ve got knives in more places than I can count, but damned if I wasn’t in the mood to fight with a sword.” She grumbles, walking back over to her horse and mounting up. 

“Perhaps we can find one at the crossroads that will suffice? I remember a merchant had set up there not long after we drove the mages and Templars away.” Solas brings his horse up beside her to chat as Adaar took point.

“Maybe, as long as it doesn’t take too much of our time away.” She fussed with a strap on her armor as they walked on at a steady pace.

“Why didn’t I think to speak to Harritt?” She sighs, giving up and fastening the strap back in place. 

“It’s a very basic set of armor for a warrior, and even Varric’s armor has a decent amount on it,” Cassandra frowned. “What about it do you not like?”

“It’s a bit heavier than I’d like if given a choice. The rest of the armor doesn’t bother me as much as the wrists do. Even when I used fight barehanded, I’d only have heavier armor on one wrist. Having it on both makes me feel weighed down more than the rest of it does.”

She shrugs, ceasing her fiddling to take the reins again to steer away from a tree branch. “I’m just really picky, though. Back home, I was able to find what worked for the job I was on.On a normal day, I’d wear something not too different from this, I guess. Give a pale gray color to the leather and some pointless tooling, and it would look close to what I’d wear to formal meetings as a personal guard, actually.” She snorted, shaking her head.

“And now I’m homesick. For my  armor .” 

The conversation tapers off as they reach the camp, and they dismount, handing the reins to the scouts that greeted them. They make their way down the bank, and head to where Corporal Vale had set up a small training camp for the soldiers protecting the crossroads.

“The Templars have set themselves up on a hill not far from here. Stakes driven into the ground and everything. They’ve taken to preying on any they think might be so-called mage sympathizers. Of course, that a disproportionate number of them seem to be unarmed refugees...” Vale trailed off, shaking his head. 

The mood is considerably dampened as they check with others around the Crossroads, splitting up a short time later. Rhea finds a sword that would work for the time being from the meager wares of the merchant there, who was so obviously needing the coin that he didn’t put much effort into haggling over the price. She paid the man his money and went to meet back up with the others at the camp as the sun hung low in the sky. 

“I was able to find where the mages are holed up,” Adaar was saying. “But for better or worse, they seem to be keeping mostly to themselves so far- even if Witchwood is paying for it. Most of the injuries reported among the refugees are from the bandits and the templars, and wild animals. One of Leliana’s scouts confirmed Corporal Vale’s info- there’s a small camp of them by a ruined fort, and the main body of them has set up a blockade not far from it on the main road to Redcliffe farms, blocking all traffic to and from the crossroads.”

“They’re no better than bandits!” Cassandra spits. “I cannot believe they would just...”

Rhiannon’s eyes glint dangerously as she takes in the destruction left by the constant fighting- there were fires still burning that had been there all day , and only the mixed blessing of little wind had kept it from spreading. The smoke blanketed the area like sick fog, and her stomach twisted as she thought of the people forced to breathe it in constantly- likely setting them up for breathing problems later on that no healer could truly fix.

“Leave them to me.” She says, a low undercurrent of anger in her voice. She puts a hand up to stop Cassandra’s argument. 

“They’re clearly too far gone to be reasoned with, Cassandra.”

Cassandra purses her lips, sighing. “That... wasn’t what I was worried about, Rhiannon. I’ve no doubt you’re skilled, but an entire encampment of Templars, even ones that have been cut off from most of their lyrium, pose a serious risk.”

Rhiannon smiles grimly. “Aye, they would in a head-on attack. Unfortunately for them, I’ve plenty of practice slipping into camps and killing the leaders.”

“...oh.” Cassandra grimaces slightly. “I suppose that would be easier than fighting all of them at once, but it’s not..”

“Honorable?” She finishes quietly. “These men and women have forsaken their order to live as brigands and bandits, preying upon anyone unfortunate enough to stray too close to their path. Mages, farmers, refugees, Inquisition scouts... They don’t deserve to meet their end in an allegedly fair and honorable battle after what they’ve done.” 

Varric, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during all this, piped up. 

“You’d better save a few for me then, Swirls.” The venom in his voice startled the two women. “I’m coming with you.”

Rhiannon sighs, standing up from her seat by the fire and tugging her gloves on. “Alright. Get your things ready, then. I’m leaving in middle watch tonight.”

“Take care to not get yourselves captured or killed, Rhiannon,” was all Cassandra had left to say on the matter.

“Aw, Seeker, you do care! I’m touched.” Varric teased, running through a check of Bianca.

“... Feel free to leave Varric there, however.”

That night, with Cassandra covering first watch, Rhea met Varric at the edge of the camp. She was doing a final check of her knives as he walked up.

“You ready?” She said by way of greeting as she pulled her hood up.

“Of course. Lead the way.”

———

“Ugh. I hate getting first watch.” 

“Eh, could be worse. Could have morning watch and have to help cook for the camp.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s true- wait, did you hear that?”

The Templar looks around nervously, trying to see past the light of his torch.

“You’re imagining things, it’s just an-“ 

There’s a thump of a body hitting the ground, and the hapless Templar didn’t get his blade halfway out of the sheath before a crossbow bolt embeds itself in his throat.

Varric yanks out his bolt and Rhea’s throwing knife from the two guards while she puts out the torches, stamping out the embers beneath her boot.

“I’ll go get the leader, you take out anyone you come across from the front. We can clean the camp out and meet up in the middle.”

Varric nods, and they split up. Rhiannon scales the outcropping that bordered the camp, marking the locations of guards as she looks for the leader’s tent. She slips through a gap in the palisade, creeping up on a guard posted near a large tent, bringing her dagger up and across his throat, setting the body down quietly. She snuffs out his torch and enters the tent, where a makeshift table was made from barrels. Sounds of heavy breathing from the corner of the tent reached her ears, and she nods to herself as she sees the helmet laying beside the cot.

“Ah, good to see some things don’t change, regardless of where you are.” 

She gripped his chin and tilted his head back, slitting his throat. She wiped her blade off on the cot quickly before taking stock of what was in the tent with a conjured wisp of light aiding her search.

“What the hell is this sword?” She murmured, holding up a sword whose blade was in the shape of a hand. “How was this even forged?” She shakes her head and takes the scabbard from the dead captain, straightening back up after pocketing his meager coin purse.

She walks out of the tent, closing her eyes and focusing for a few seconds until she could sense the souls of anyone in the area. She sees Varric standing over a quickly-dimming glow, and after a quick sweep, sees that the rest of the camp is wiped out.

She whistles a two-note tone and starts for the dwarf. He’d finished up looting by the time she’d gotten there, and he slings Bianca over his shoulder and smiles grimly.

“I think I got more, Swirls.” They share a chuckle and begin walking back to the camp.

“I suppose we can do an official count in the morning, if you want,” she replies, stifling a yawn. “I’m sure Adaar will want to make sure they’re taken care of.”


	9. Chapter 9

That next morning, they rode out, predictably, to the Templar camp.

“Damn,” Adaar whistled as they came upon the first set of tents. “You weren’t playing around.”

“Been in the game too long for playing around. Things like calling cards are just ways to get yourself caught and killed. As a freelancer, they’re just stupid. Not to mention the fact that they’re often extremely cliche. Roses and the like. I want a message sent, I put a knife of the client’s in em, or I pin their coin purse to their chest if they were obscenely wealthy. Other than that, unless specified by the client, no other finishing touches unless the mark’s just an absolute bastard that deserves some infamy in their death.”

Varric, ever the morbidly curious type, pulled out a little journal and a fountain pen. “Care to share a few of those? Always have room for a meaningful death scene for a noble in my crime serials...” 

she snorts, shaking her head. 

“You’re incorrigible. Very well. Tell me if I need to slow down or repeat anything.”

“Okay, so there was one guy that was an absolute monster to his servants. Nothing new there, right? But this guy was a special case. He paid off a healer who had treated one of his servants for ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, and burns from pipe ash ALL over her upper body. The guy turned around and used the money to hire me to kill him in the same way he’d maimed that poor girl.”

“Maker, how can they be so cruel? The depravity of some people...” Cassandra shudders. 

“Aye. It’s disgusting. Hope he’s wailing in the void he crawled out of.” She cleared her throat lightly before she continues.

“Anyway, so, I tied him up, gagged him, and got ashes from some very eager servants. The ashes were  fresh out of the kitchen fireplaces- the girl had been a scullery maid- and the bucket they put them in was scorched and smoking. Nothing like some good, old fashioned revenge, eh? The girl came to me later and thanked me for what I’d done. She’d gotten access to a knife, to use it on the sick bastard the next time he wanted his ‘fun’, but she was glad she didn’t have to. I ended up giving her most of what the guy paid me. I sure as shit didn’t need all of it, and figured she’d make better use of it than I would.” She hummed in thought, shifting in her saddle slightly. 

“I wonder how the girl is doing these days. I hope she has a better position now, it’s the least she deserves after what she’s gone through.”

They continue on, swapping stories as they make their way through the Hinterlands. They topped a cliff overlooking a ravine, and just beyond it, they see the remains of Redcliffe farms. 

“That must be where Master Dennet is,” Cassandra remarked. 

“Let’s go see about getting the mounts, then. Maybe we can help them out.” Adaar mused, brow furrowing as her Mark flared painfully.

“Of course there’s rifts nearby...” she groans. They scan the area, looking for a telltale flash of green light.

“There, by the waterfall.”

They pick their way down the cliff, and the rift pulses violently as demons manifest themselves. Rhea swears colorfully as she dodges out of the way of a beam of frost magic. 

“Flames, what in hell is that?!” She shouted, dodging several rapid-fire ice spikes from the demon. 

“A demon of Despair!” Cassandra yelled back, shortly before she bellowed out a war cry. Rhea felt a strange ripple of power from the warrior, and the demons near her scream, the weaker ones dissolving back into the rift. 

The demon of Despair shrieked angrily at her, preparing to fire a beam of ice magic at the woman, who had taken a second to catch her breath.

“ _Gwarchod gan y nos_! ” 

When the demon’s spell reaches her, Cassandra simply isn’t there. The attack passes through her harmlessly, which give the rest of the party enough time to dispatch this last demon.

“By the Maker, what was that?!” Cassandra spins around to look at Rhiannon with wide, panicked eyes.

“A spell, Seeker. It... I suppose the easiest way to describe it is that it made a ‘copy’ of you, an illusion, so the attack would just miss you. It’s a bit different from what it would do if I used it, but of course, some magic is just like that. If I had used it, I would’ve passed partially into the Fade, letting me move out of the way fast enough to dodge the attack. I’m curious though- what did it feel like? What did you see?”

Cassandra sheathed her sword, taking a breath.

“Odd. I felt oddly cold for a moment, as though I had stepped out of a warm room into the cool night air. Everything went gray for a moment as well, like all the color had been leeched out of the world.”

Rhea’s eyes light up as she speaks, and a smile brightens her features.  “That’s great! It’s good to know that the spell still works in a similar manner here!” She gushes, nearly brimming with excitement. “I knew it wouldn’t be harmful in any case, of course, I just didn’t know if it would actually  do anything.” She paused, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry that I experimented with my magic on you, Cassandra. It was sort of a knee-jerk reaction on my part. I’ll try not to do that again.”

The warrior purses her lips for a moment, thinking. “As long as you promise that you will take care that there aren’t any effects that you don’t know about, I suppose it’s okay- so long as you use it with good intentions.”   
“Of course, Cassandra.” Rhea nods solemnly. “But hopefully I won’t have to do that very often. It’s a little cumbersome to use on the fly.” She smiles and sheathes her blade, looking to Adaar.   
“Shall we pay a visit Master Dennet?”


End file.
